InsaneJournal

WHO: Thomas, Victor
WHAT: Besties just having a totally chill chat about things. It's totally chill guys. Everything is chill.
WHEN: Thursday night
WHERE: Kemps
WARNINGS: Talk about addiction



It wasn't often that the Kemp house wasn't bursting with people, but with Jamie and Roxanna out with friends, and Lena attending a study group for her summer class, Thomas had been alone most of the afternoon. He was thrilled when Victor asked to bring Deirdre over for dinner and hanging out. Thomas had latched on to Victor as his best friend the moment he had met the man, and he was basically like an excited puppy every time Victor initiated spending time together. Thomas thought Victor was pretty much the coolest.

After dinner, with Deirdre safely playing in the living room in full view of both of them, Victor and Thomas set to washing the dishes. "Tom. Who exactly do you think you're fooling?"

Thomas blinked twice and he looked away from his scrubbing job to find Victor leaning against the counter, drying a plate and watching his daughter carefully. It did mean that Victor wasn't looking at him which made the question even more worrying. "Uhm. What?"

"You're in pain." Victor pulled his eyes away from his daughter just for a moment, meeting Thomas' own. There was sadness written all over Victor's face and Thomas found it uncomfortable to look at.

Scrubbing. Scrubbing was easy to focus on. "It's fine," he said, tackling a rather resistant bit of baked on cheese.

"It isn't," Victor stated simply. "Deirdre, honey, remember the rule about remotes? Not in the mouth. Thank you."

"Is that why you came over here?" Thomas asked quietly, suddenly feeling ever so slightly betrayed. He had been in a terrible traffic accident months ago and he was still healing, though at least he could walk now, with difficulty. His ribs still ached and he needed a further surgery on his left wrist in a few weeks, just to get everything squared away. His legs hurt all the time and he knew it was likely to continue for a very long time, not that he had told anyone else that.

"I came over here because you're my friend," Victor said, which didn't actually negate whether he had intended to confront him or not.

"So this is...what...the opposite of an intervention?" Thomas asked, finally giving up on the cheese. He would need to soak the dish. He didn't want to look at Victor, but he forced himself to anyway. Over the past few months he had had countless arguments with his family about just taking something for the pain and he had resisted most of it because he was an addict and he didn't want to risk it. Lena had scored him some weed which had helped with the worst part of his recovery, but he wasn't going to use it now that he was on his feet again. It seemed ridiculous. "I take IB Profen and it's fine."

"Tom-"

"Stop saying my name over and over again!" Thomas hissed. In the living room, Deirdre dropped her toy and stared at the kitchen, as if wondering whether she should be distressed or not. Immediately Thomas felt guilty and he turned bright red. "Victor, I don't know what you're asking me to do here? But I'm not risking taking opiates."

Victor held his hands up and Thomas recognised it as his signal for 'everything is fine here, let's just calm down. "T- Heh. I know we're not just talking about- I know what pain syndrome is because a former partner of mine was in a car accident and ended up with it. And I can tell there are things you aren't saying. I mean you are a terrible liar, Thomas. Just...bad. They way you keep dancing around certain subjects-"

"Okay! Jesus Christ, I'm not a perp, Victor. Stop...interrogating me," Thomas tossed the sponge in the sink. "Fine. Yes. It's a possibility but it's too early to tell."

The way Victor looked at him then made Thomas feel like he was a criminal. His insides shrank and suddenly Thomas was very aware just how god Victor had been at his job because he was ready to tell the man anything. His gentle, kind friend suddenly felt imposing and cold. The room was filled with his presence and it was slightly oppressive. "There are people you should tell."

"I know," Thomas admitted. "I will."

"And you're going to have to think about how to manage it if it does end up-"

"Do you honestly think I have been thinking about anything else!?" Thomas shot back before Victor could even finish his statement. "Do you think I have been able to concentrate on a single other thing since the doctor told me this was a possibility? I'm half terrified that I'm going to be in anguish with nothing to stop it, and half excited I might have an excuse to have more vicodin. Hell, just one more. I feel like I could take all the pain in the world if I could just have one. Which is just...why I can't."

"There are other ways! There's electro-stimulation for one. Or you could have Lena or Jamie in control of your meds so you didn't get out of control-"

Thomas laughed ruefully and suddenly he felt very, very tired. "Lena's going to have to deal with enough when my huntington's rears it's ugly fucking head. And Jamie? You expect me to ask my son who isn't even twenty-five, to handle my meds because his father is an addict?"

"What makes you think he wouldn't want to?"

"What makes you think he should!" Thomas growled, and Deirdre finally burst into tears. Victor rushed into the living room, scooping her up into his arms.

"Oh, sweetheart, everything's okay. See, Uncle Thomas is fine too, hmm?" Victor brought Deirdre over and Thomas instantly felt a little better. Kids always managed to do that for him. He planted a kiss on Deirdre's forehead and she calmed down slightly. "See, we're all okay."

"Your father's just crossing several boundaries and being really annoying," Thomas said, though his tone of voice was sing-songy and upbeat so Deirdre wouldn't get upset again.

Victor sighed and headed to collect Deirdre's things. "I guess I'll get out of your hair then."

"Yeah, I think that'd be good."

"Thomas- I am not trying to convince you to take drugs again, I am saying you need to talk about this is all. Silence is only going to make it worse."

"I thought you were leaving," Thomas grumped back, and then he turned on his heel and walked to his bedroom, leaving Victor to show himself out. The entire walk there Thomas felt intensely guilty because, of course, Victor was right.

Goddamn Victor was always right.